Maybe One Day We'll Turn Off the Lights
by sofasoapsopia
Summary: What the hell are you supposed to do when the Apocalypse comes about? Start up a group of survivors is what. Maybe then you'll be able to sleep in the dark without fear. OC's
1. Prologue

A mix between the comic and show, and my own AU.

I'll warn you now because I don't want to mess later chapters with ANs and warnings. **There will be Unreliable narrating (to be expected, obviously), guts, gore, blood, people dying, animals killed/hurt/hunted, zombies, brutality, death, all that nasty stuff**. I'll update this as something comes up in my writing.

I do not own The Walking Dead, if I did, the Winchesters would have been up on this shit faster than you can say 'Supernatural'.

 **Prologue**

It wasn't... sudden.

But... it wasn't like we had weeks to prepare either.

It happened in days. Five, to be precise.

It first started when I was in class.

I'd been leaning back lazily in my chair, scribbling little faces and bodies from books and comics and shows and just about everything I had seen or made up in my mind onto a piece of scrap paper, one that would be placed into an ever growing pile.

Maxine stood behind me, half sitting on her desk and half standing, dragging her soft fingers and pointy nails through my hair and against my scalp. It was short, but she'd still play with it and try pull it into a braid anyways.

I enjoyed it enough, I did actually love my hair, brown and seemingly normal as it may have been.

Plus, having someone play with your hair felt great.

I remember sighing, tired because of how I late I'd been sleeping lately. It's not my fault that reading was one the most amazing things in the world. It was just so addicting; historical fiction, sci-fi, romance, comics, fanfiction. I loved it all.

I'd turned my head, only slightly though because Maxi would have tugged it back forward, and she would have tugged hard. Didn't really matter though, because I still caught Zack's electric blue eyes. We shared small, happy smiles, and I swear my heart stopped. The only thing saving me from teasing and embarrassment was that I wasn't a blusher. It just didn't happen. I couldn't say the same for Zack, Dean was on those red cheeks like a pitbull from hell, teasing and poking at him.

He was so cute. I sighed almost dreamily.

Maxine giggled at their antics, weaving strands of hair together.

It had essentially been a free period. Sir was busy working on his laptop, too busy to teach us anything so he'd practically let us go wild. "Read, talk quietly, catch up on homework or last-minute assignments, just no yelling." he'd said, ten minutes late to class before sitting down and calling up people, typing away on his keyboard.

The majority of the class talked, only a few actually did homework. I could've have done mine... but I couldn't be bothered.

Up at the front of the room the projector was on and was showing live news, like it always did when we had a 'free period'. Nobody actually watched that stuff, and sir had said something about making it a habit at the beginning of the year, so thus it would play on in the background.

I had cast a blind eye to it; I just wasn't that interested. I was more preoccupied in wondering what Jaime was doing and how he was, creating a detailed yet easy schedule to complete my homework and assignments that I'd never use, the latest fanfiction I'd been reading and how much longer it'd take till I got home and was able to reunite with it, and Zack's pretty blue eyes and black hair.

I'd suddenly been drifting off, replacing the lead character in a video game that Dean had forced me to play with him–which to be honest wasn't half bad–with myself, wielding a gun and looking hot and being punny when something stumbled onto the screen in a flash and the news reporter sounded slightly panicked.

And by slightly I mean she screamed, attacked from behind by a delirious, absolutely smashed looking man. But that wasn't... that wasn't what really caught my attention and stole my breath away.

It was the blood.

It started as rivulets falling down her creamy neck and into her cleavage, her hysterical shrieks and loud swears being thrown around in the background, before it gushed out in rivers form the gaping hole in her neck that–that the thing bit out of her.

Right then and there I'd forgotten how to breathe.

The class was transfixed with horror as she died on screen. The camera was shaking wildly, pulling back as though the camera man was running. He had every right to be, my heart jumping in my chest as that thing continued gnawing into the dead reporter, smearing blood wherever it moved it's grimy hands.

It was shot down a moment later.

Before it stood back up.

And then our view was covered as the camera was pulled back a good distance further away and a ring of police formed around it.

"Oh my God..." someone whispered shakily.

The video became viral worldwide in a matter of minutes.

Everyone was talking about, we were getting news reports from every news channel and talk show, live interviews from the government, senators, local figures, heads of states, the President. Status reports from every CDC there was in America. People, whoever they were and however busy they were, were scrambling to get on screen and express their shock.

All of this in one day, we still hadn't know what was happening. Every forum, every blog, every piece of mass social media was bursting alive at the seems.

This was just the beginning.

Class was subdued the next day. It was quiet, but nobody was doing work. There was a buzz in the air making my stomach twist and churn nervously. Maxine was holding my hand tightly, and though I didn't mind Zack's hand in my other, I wanted Jaime. Young, baseball loving, all smiles Jaime. But he was a school away, six years younger than me. It had been hard letting him walk off into his school compound.

The attack might have been states away, and there might have not been any more attacks the day after the news reporters death, but I was scared and worried. I didn't want anything to happen to him.

I didn't want anything to happen to any of us.

So far the attack was written off as an accident. He was stoned they'd said. High off his rockers. Smashed, delirious, hallucination and with a fever he'd acted on some flimsy instinct because he was hungry and tore into the first thing he'd seen.

Nobody believed that shit.

And then, on the third day...

Well.

It wasn't just the news that went worldwide.

Everything went downhill from there.


	2. Chapter 1

**chapter one**

I used to think that the thing I hated most in the world were people.

I was an idiot.

I realize this now, as I sit quietly, small and tucked tight underneath the counter of an abandoned gas station. It's dark, and cold, and stinks of the dead but right now this is the safest place I could be.

My knees are tensed, one bent to hold my elbow and the other lies tensed and bent on the floor, ready so I can kick if need be but to also cushion a sleeping head. In my arms I hold a rifle that I can barely use but it's better than nothing. It's faster and I'm tired, so really, if anything does happen nearby I can just shoot over and over again.

I hope it doesn't come to that though.

Dean shifts next to me, sighing in his sleep.

How the fuck he can sleep so peacefully has always surprised me. How he can still do this now is surprising. I'm not afraid to admit that I'd thought he'd be the one getting the least sleep between us, Dean is too... nice? No, empathetic to not be affected by what we see almost everyday because of our luck. For the past few weeks the only times I've ever gotten to actually sleep and not have a short nap was when I was absolutely drop dead tired and I was practically falling asleep as I walked. My dreams aren't exactly the most pleasant things, if I ever do dream.

Sometimes I just feel so dead tired that there's nothing.

I'm not tired now though. I had my four hour rest yesterday night. I think. Memories a little fuzzy, I can't really remember what I had for breakfast. Resting at night wasn't appealing, and it still doesn't for reasons I wasn't bothered to explain besides that fact that we couldn't see shit and the world was most certainly scarier at night, but he had kicked the idea of resting during the day our of the boot. We couldn't afford to lose daylight, it was the safest time to travel.

Wherever we're travelling.

Something groans and it's almost instinctive to whip the rifle to poke and aim around despite the burn in my arm and how useless it is, but then I stop myself before I do, noticing Dean and his head lifting off about an inch or two off my leg and feeling a rise of fist-curling anger I slap it back down. He groans again, this one sounding more like a sleepy whine. My eyes fall shut, lips pursed and I can't help but let out a frustrated, almost silent exhale.

Dean picks face out of leg. "Shit, what was that for?" he blinks up at me blearily, or I think he does.

I cast him a flat look. "Nothing. Just go back to sleep." My hearts still beating frantically in my chest. It's frustrating that I can't move, or walk, or go for a jog when there's a boatload of adrenaline coursing through me.

He stares, I'm pretty sure he does but I don't care. Blowing out of his nose noisily his forehead plops back onto my thigh, mumbling nonsense under his breath. My eyes roll and I stretch my back, fixing the rifle. The pain in my shoulder and upper arm is blinding, tensing and moving slowly barely helps. There's a giant bruise, coloured in patches of blue and black with a few red scratch looking marks around, making itself at home on my tanned skin and muscle. I'm sure the bones bruised too. My teeth grind, I can hear it grossly in my ears.

Like I said, the rifle's practically useless. Not only is it a little–actually, too–big for me, I'd never learnt how hold one. Didn't think I needed to, I was exactly expecting the dead to come back to life. All I knew was from those video games that all five of us had slaved over, and it was so much easier on screen then real life. If not knowing how to hold it wasn't enough, I'm a horrible aim. The most I used this thing for after that one horrifying moment when we found out that the first time using the guns should have been in the safety of not being in a dead man's presence instead of the three we were surrounded by was to whack them over the head with.

It's entirely to uncomfortable to hold, supremely awkward in my arms as I'm left handed so reloading it–which had actually taken some time to figure out without accidentally breaking or jamming the thing–is a pain, and I wasn't and still isn't sure whether I'm doing it right or not. Then for someone with pretty scrawny arms and had done almost nothing in life that related to any sports that included arm muscle, this thing is pretty fucking heavy.

Jesus, it's like carrying all of my textbooks all at once for hours on end.

Dean doesn't quite fall asleep like I told him to. He decides to complain about it instead. "Ugh, 'm so tired." he emphasises with a yawn. "And cold, what time is it?"

"Dunno, probably been a few hours since you went down." I say. I can feel a burn in the back of eyes, one that I might have been ignoring for the past few days. I'm not sure whether it's because I'm tired–which I was sure I wasn't, my head wasn't continuously bobbing, but I could always be wrong and not noticed it–or my sight was starting to fail or something and my eyes were giving me a warning, but resting them for a little bit didn't sound to bad. "Can you hold this for me?" I shove the rifle hopefully into his arms, having felt him sort of sit up.

I fall back, cushioning myself in the corner. "Uh yeah, whatever. See you in a bit."

I close my eyes, breathing starting to slow and-

They snap open. "Dude, wake up. You've been dead for hours."

"The hell are you talking about?" I squint, lip curling. Dean's face is right in front of me, his large, wild, black eyes staring into my own. His equally dark hair is curled messily. And not the 'nice and cute' kind of messy either. It's greasy, packed with dirt in some parts and smells like sweat, pressed and fluffed up in some spots because of sleep. Mine's not any better, but I could actually tie it back and wore Jaime's hat over it. That thought causes unpleasant feelings to stir in my chest.

"It's morning. Y'know, the time of day when the sun rises?"

I roll my eyes, breathing off the pain and shoving him back, taking the rifle back into the safety of my arms. Taking into account everything we have with us, it's not much. A messenger bag each that hangs on our shoulders, around our chest and back down to our hips, where everything that belongs to us rests; some dried packets of food, a few cans, numerous match boxes, bottles of water and all the ammunition for the guns we could find.

Sooner or later we would need blankets and sleeping bags, for now we wear either woollen sweaters or thin blankets at night. Usually both though. During the day I took it off, along with my flannel which I tied around my waist or hung both on my bag.

If the rifle wasn't in either of our arms then it sat in the rifle holster we'd found with it and I'd fitted to both of us. As a smaller 'side' weapon I had a hammer that hung from the loops of my shorts and Dean had a Glock tucked into his jeans.

No idea what type, just that it something similar may have come up once or twice in some video games a long, long time ago.

The only reason we stayed at this station was to get some rest and recuperate, but now we have to leave. There isn't any food here, anything that was edible at least. Everything was spoiled and any cans or sealed food that could've been were gone from the shelves.

A pity, I think I can hear my stomach crying in the background somewhere.

I make way to sit up but then stop in a slouch. All the air within me comes out with a deflated whoosh. I don't really feel like moving anymore. However, we need to leave sometime soon. I'm all ready to go, but Dean has to pack his stuff. Something about re-arranging it, I don't know. Sometimes he acted more like a girl then me.

I take this time to just sit and think about what the hell we're doing.

It's not a long think. 'Cause it's simple.

Nothing.

We're doing literally nothing.

We just keep walking, and walking, and walking. Atlanta might have been mentioned before, the CDC too, but I doubt we'd actually make it there.

Can you imagine the amount of people that are probably already there? They probably won't let us in, even if we are teenagers and on the younger end of the spectrum. I doubt there'd be room to spare, nobody would want to split the food into even smaller shares, and then there's the thought of someone getting infected. Grouping a bunch of people like that doesn't seem smart. If one turns into a dead man than the rest'll just be biding their time until their gone.

I bet it'd take a day, maybe two or three for a large group to be wiped out.

Honestly, what can we do? I wasn't seeing the point to living, not when there was nothing to live for. Dean called me a pessimist and cynical when I first brought that up. Pretty sure he agreed though, he was sullen for the rest of the night and had glued himself to my side. It was kind of annoying but I let him. Maxi isn't here anymore and I want to point out that I feel the stinging loss just has heavy as he, but I can tell he feels it a lot more than me.

I guess I've just become more or less numb to this stuff. It's easier to not think about them at all.

But really, with the way things were turning out, the future isn't looking all that bright.

I'm getting tired of this.

"No no no, don't look like that. I'm ready now, we can go!" I look up blankly at Dean who's actually pretty good at acting cheerful before rolling my eyes. Sliding out from underneath the counter, our little safe spot, standing up I can finally see the rest of the gas station.

It's empty.

Not sure what I was expecting.

We head out, around the counter to the door and gently pry it open, careful to not make a sound. When it does open as a crack, I peek out into the early morning. The sky is cloudy and looking lifeless but the sun is still shining, if seemingly dull, the way it has taken to since the beginning.

It must be the effect of the apocalypse or something.

There's nothing out here but abandoned cars and dead bodies, all shot in the head, their bodies emanating a sour and horrid stench. My nose twitches and I step out as silently as I can with my rifle my arms, backpack and messenger bag all set. There's a hammer in my pocket that gives me a strange sense of comfort. Dean follows slowly and we leave behind the station.

Wind blows stands of my short hair gently around my sleep greasy face.

It's silent.

I miss the people.

I miss the living.

XXX

A week later and I end up thinking that maybe I didn't really miss them after all.

Some people are just natural assholes.

Sometime after the station and a highway or two we decided to ditch the roads in favour of the forests around them. It was risky travelling by road, there abandoned cars everywhere, places for dead men to hide. And then there were the few living people, paranoid living people. We were only lucky that they had a shit shot when driving or else me and Dead would've had holes in our heads.

Of course the forest and surrounding reserves isn't any better, dead leaves make a lot of sound and getting lost is easy, but at least we wouldn't be mistaken for dead men and both me and Dean are proficient in tree climbing. Besides, Dean wanted to try hunting. He wouldn't shut up about it.

In fact, he's still going on about.

"You know you won't catch anything if you don't shut up, right?" I say, squinting around. Trees, leaves, more trees, and oh, look at that, more leaves. I'd lost sight of the road and finding it again is fucking hard. I can't remember which way it was pointing and night wouldn't be for another few hours so using stars or the moon was completely useless. Then the sun is right in the middle of the sky and I swear it hasn't moved in any direction for the past two hours.

No compass or anything, we were lost.

Dean chuckles sheepishly, quietly, "Oh yeah, sorry. But c'mon, it's too quiet. I was getting a little angsty."

"I can guess." I say, rolling my eyes, giving up on looking for that damned road. We're probably too far into the forest to see it from here anyways.

We moved through the forest, and just when I was getting bored and opening my mouth to talk about anything, we hear a rustle.

I freeze on the spot. The forest isn't dense by far, but it's a forest. Everything looks the same and there's one too many branches and leaves. Enough to hide a dead man walking. But... there isn't any of the usual shuffling or groaning.

The air is around us is still.

Light flits through the leafy expanse above, I look around cautiously, barely turning on my heel and looking over my shoulder. Patches of light hit Dean's skin when he enters my range, and he looks just as wary and alert as I probably do; dark eyes narrowed, rifle slowly raising in his arms.

I let my eyes flicker around, and let out the air I hadn't realised I'd been holding in. I can hear my heart beating in my ears.

There's nothing. It was probably a squirrel or something.

I relax, and then something steps forwards behind me and I twirl in an instant, gun raised straight ahead, spine rigid.

I don't know whether I should be shocked or afraid, but I think I might settle for a little bit of relief instead actually. The gun falls loosely in my hands, because that is a person in front of us. Not a dead man, but an actual living person. I mean, he's kind of holding a crossbow at us, and has a natural resting bitch face, but it's an actual living, human being.

He's older than us by a mile. Maybe forty? Mid forties? I dunno, but he has light crows feet around his eyes, a sort of buzz cut and a scruffy beard. His sharp, dark blue eyes I notice, are narrowed, making him look angrier than he probably is, I think. He looks like those people who are just always angry, and he still hasn't let down the crossbow.

Dean doesn't care, and I have half the mind to join his light, laughter in relief, or whack him over the head because there's a fucking crossbow pointed at us.

The man snorts. "The hell're kids doin' out here? Shouldn't you been hiding with your mommy or somethin'?"

I settle for a sigh. My grip on the gun tightens slightly.

"Foster children." I say as answer as Dean says, "I was hunting!"

His eyebrow raises and shakes his head, a mocking smile twisting his lips. "You call what you were doin' huntin'? I could here you from a mile away pup."

I have to agree that Dean does look like a puppy. He just has that face, and God knows how many times he's given me the puppy eyes, but still, rude. The guy sounds like he smokes cigarettes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, voice raspy and dry as it is. It's grating on my nerves how he talks down at us. But then again, we're basically kids, teenagers.

Adult arrogance really pisses me off.

I scowl, naturally.

"Why, you think you can do better?" Dead says affronted.

How many times has this guy snorted? He does it again. "O' course I can, what the hell d'you think this is for?" and he gestures the crossbow by raising it higher in the air.

Dean eyes it and I can practically see him thinking do something stupid. And he does. "Can you teach me?"

I hope he can see the glare I'm sending him. He better. Look at my eyes Dean. Do you see how much of moron I think you're being? I try to send my thoughts telepathically to him, but it clearly doesn't works as he keeps on prodding the man in giving him lessons.

"Get the hell away from me kid. Like hell am I teaching you anythin'."

"Dude come on! I've been trying to catch a rabbit all day!"

"Ain't my fault you walk like a fucking elephant! Now shut up, you're scaring everythin' away."

I huff and shake my head, head falling onto my shoulder. The guy walks off shooting one last glare that obviously says 'And don't you follow me now' to Dean–and then to me like an afterthought, as though he's just remembered I was there–before he disappears under some lively green bush. Dean's lips are pursed, eyes narrowed and brows lowered in concentration.

He looks at me once. "No," I say immediately.

"Yes." he says.

I blink and scowl. "I'm not following you if you do."

He pouts for a second but then shrugs and ducks in to the bush.

I stand there, silent as wind blows stray leaves around me.

Should I go? Should I just stay here? The answer's already decided. Like hell am I going to let Dean–clumsy, oblivious and idiotic Dean–just walk off following some hunter, one with a crossbow and the muscles to use. Probably with the personality to use it on a person even.

I don't think I'd be able to deal with an arrow ridden Dean.

With a groan I make haste and crawl through the greenery to my best ability, quietly but quickly so I can catch up to him. I make it out to the other side and luckily for me, he's walking hunched over his rifle a few metres up ahead. I don't get any closer, I have a feeling he knows I'm there behind him anyways. The idiot.

At some point during our steady walk he stops and over confident in himself sends a 'come here' motion with his hand. With a roll of my eyes and silent, annoyed huff I do it anyways, placing gentle steps on the ground as I edge my way towards him.

The forests floor is littered with new and dead leaves, large and small pieces of bark lying sporadically around and small twigs and medium sized branches lie hidden or in plain sight, just looking like their waiting to be stepped on.

Surely the guy we've been following knows we're following him, but Dean also signals to be quiet so that's what I do.

When I get to him I look over his shoulder.

Immediately I blanch.

The guy – whatever his name is – has a foot planted down firmly, using the leverage to pull an arrow out of a bleeding buck. I grimace in the realisation that it's still alive when it whimpers.

"Watch that kid? Now that is how ya hunt." The guy breaks the silence and Dean jumps startled. "Now get over 'ere and help me tie this thing up. Don't just stand there like a doll."

Dean scrambles forward swinging the rifle onto his back.

My eyes narrow, but I move forward to help, slinging my rifle onto my back. I wonder why he's even letting us touch his kill. He doesn't seem like the type of person to take in a couple of teenagers for no damn reason.

He hands me the rope and directs Dean to hold onto the hind legs while he takes care of putting it to sleep. The buck dies in silence while I wrap and tie the rope around it's... ankles? Whatever, it's legs. When that's done we stand up, the guy having done the front legs.

I look up as to say 'now what?' while by black haired friend scratches his head.

The guy snorts, mumbling something along the lines of 'can't believe 'm doing this' from what I can make out in that throat scratching voice of his before motioning for us to pick it up. He doesn't even try to help.

I want to growl in annoyance but I can't. My lungs whoosh with the weight of the animal, helping the struggling Dean into carrying it.

Let me tell you, it's fucking heavy.

My only sense of safety is that the guy has his crossbow up and searching the area.

"Hey," Dean breaks in. "we never got your name."

For once I thank him silently. I was getting tired of calling him 'the guy'.

He casts us a disinterested glance before motioning for us to follow him. "It's just big ole Merle." And then he smirks at us. "Mista Dixon works good too."

I give him a flat glare. "Wren."

Dean grins despite the tremble in arms that I can see. Again, this thing is fucking heavy, my shoulders hurt, the rifle isn't helping and the large ass nasty bruise I have isn't either. "Dean Graham."

Merle snorts. "I didn't ask for a roll call."

He leads us further into the forest for what must be hours, and if I didn't know that he could hunt this thing I would have thought we were lost. It's a good thing the day isn't hot, or else the buck might've spoiled I'm sure. There hasn't been any flies yet anyways. With no signs of dead men walking or any other sort of trouble, eventually we start to edge into a clearing, the trees becoming thinner until they stop completely and it's dry, packed dirt and old grass that we walk on instead.

Up ahead I spot a small campfire with a roasting stick over it, two sleeping bags and packs, and then two motorcycles. That isn't what catches my eye however.

Up ahead and beyond the campfire and belongings is the edge of what seems to be a small cliff, and then beyond that is blue.

As soon as we drop the buck I run straight for the edge, getting down on my knees to stare wide eyed at the sight before me.

It's beautiful.

Dean and me, we're basically city people.

We'd never been out to the country, and through this wasn't exactly it, we'd never been somewhere like here. It was always townies or suburbs, nice picket fences or large city expanses, there had been brick and glass and concrete with the few small reserves, dull and dark gloomy lakes, and bunch of dark green shrubbery.

Now...

I'll say it again: it's beautiful.

It's not river so much as a large, circular lake with multiple streams breaking off into smaller pools. Even in the late afternoon and the sunshine is dull the water shimmers a bright, mesmerizing blue. The pool of water is surrounded by slanted rock that towers high, cutting inward creating a ledge to make way for a road path leading up to here.

"Is that Atlanta?" I ask numbly, spotting a grey city landscape in the distance.

Dean mumbles a quiet 'whoa' beside me.

"Why are you up here if the city's just over there?"

Merle's voice rasps somewhere from behind. "It's infested, can't walk a straight line without coming across one of 'em things."

"What about all the people? Wasn't there supposed to be a refugee centre? What was it called, a quarantine zone?" Dean asks.

Merle laughs derisively. "You think that'd work boy? Gather a herd and place them right in the middle of a warzone? They'd all be dead before the week is over."

My eyes are still locked onto the gray city expanse. All those people dead or dying... I sit back. I'm more surprised if that there are people that even made it to the city.

At point we'd walked on the highway. There wasn't a living thing in sight. Mostly cause anything that could've been living was dead.

"What are you doing up here then, with the city so close?" I ask, twisting around in time to see Merle cut a hole in the bucks ass.

I stare.

At some point in my staring at Atlanta he'd hung the deer upside down on a sturdy looking branch, separate ropes through each hind leg holding it up.

"Out this far to hunt, close to the city to get supplies," he grunts, nowhere near perturbed and definitely not wearing any gloves.

Jesus, Dean looks way too excited and eager for someone watching someone else cutting off an animals penis and scrotum.

"There's poop in there," I say blandly.

"I ain't touchin' the poop."

There's something oddly satisfying in watching someone with skill disembowel a deer with ease.

"Are your hands clean?" I pester him.

"O' course they are! Damn brat..."

"It's leaking blood," Dean comments.

"What'd you think it was gonna do? Blow bubbles?" Merle tosses back, gently stabbing a hole where the deers dick had been. At one point I'd move closer, standing back as he hooks and slices up and then down, the blade of his knife splitting open the body down halfway. At once the deers innard starts falling against the opening.

I don't even bat an eyelash at the sight of the large stomach bulging and the intestines and other stringy looking organs slipping out. Dean let's out an 'ooh'.

Merle works quick, barely giving us anytime time to figure out what he cuts next. One moment he's slicing up something fancy that he mutters is the 'diaphragm' and then next thing you know he sticks his hand deep inside, cutting the 'trachea', pulling out and then cleanly cutting the leftover 'diaphram', before he's suddenly holding up in all it's glory, the guts of the deer detached and not actually... in the deer, anymore.

And then some leaves suddenly rustle that me and Dean barely have anytime to grab our rifles but jump on the spot as another guy walks into the clearing. He stops dead when he sees us.

His face screams 'what in the flying fuck am I lookin' at?'.

"Who the hell are they?"

Merle shrugs, placing the innards at the trunk of the tree. "Bunch'ah brats wanted to learn how to hunt."

"And you taught 'em? You said yes?"

A snort. "Followed me all the way to this buck over here. Wouldn't fucking leave."

"You? And kids?"

"You have eyes don't ya?" Merle looks like he doesn't even care.

The other guys mouth is slightly open, looking at–his brother? They look sort of similar–Merle in half disbelief, half incredulousness. "You," he scoffs out. "teachin' kids?"

"You gonna keep repeating yourself like?" Merle asks, sounding a little irritated.

And then the unnamed guy scowls. "We're not keepin' 'em."

"Oi," I say, nose scrunched. I give him my own scowl.

"I didn't say nothin' about keepin' 'em." Merle scoffs.

Dean's eyes flashes, "Hey," he pipes up. "c'mon dude, we haven't seen another living being for days."

"I taught you how to hunt, didn't say anything about lettin' you stay."

"We'll pull our own weight," I offer. "we're not kids. We've made it this far."

"And you can make it further now can't ya."

"Look, what about that whole safety in numbers thing? We're not dead weight, we could help you hunt!" Dean exclaims and I hunch my shoulders, hands in my pocket.

"You couldn't even catch a rabbit, what the hell do you think you're gonna do?" Merle retorts.

Thinking quickly my eyes catch sight of the gray city. "We could do supply runs down at the city."

Here the other guy buts in, "You two?" The incredulity is leaking in his tone. On his face too, actually, dark brows raised that if they moved any higher they'd be touching his hairline, mouth in a half opened, disbelieving sneer.

I glare, "Didn't I just say we've made it this far? It's been three weeks since the initial outbreak. What the hell d'you think we did during that time? Sit like ducks? Have a tea party?"

Merle points a red finger at me, "Hey Doll, I don't want any sass from you."

I give him a hard look, ignoring Dean heatedly muttering 'don't call her that!'.

The two older men exchange a round of looks before Merle snorts and looks away, an ugly sneer twisting his lips. I don't know what made them change their minds, and which one convinced the other considering they both look like they wanted to kick us back out into the forest again, but I roll with. "Fine, you's two set up over there. Supply run happens tomorrow, understood?"

Dean the idiot salutes, "Yessir!"

I scowl and shuffle off to our designated sleeping area. I scuff the ground a little, mark the where I'm gonna sleep tonight, do the same for Dean and then wander back. He catches my eye. My bag stays were hanging firmly over my chest and my back strapped comfortingly against my back. We don't trust them to just casually leave are things on the ground in the open. Well, I certainly don't, and since I'm older Dean has to listen to me. Or at least trusts my judgement and does in fact have a brain in that thick skull of his.

I think Merle gets that because he–I'm starting to get tired of hearing him do it every damn minute–snorts and motions a hand at the hanging deer. "Get your asses back over here, I ain't gonna write you an essay on how to cut up a deer."

What an asshole.


End file.
